Casualty of War
by JadeSelena
Summary: Gail/Nick drabble, post 3x03. Just because he came back didn't mean they hadn't lost anything...


**Here's what happened: I had to take a break from _God Help Her _because the angst was depressing the hell out of me (I know, right?) so I decided to write a fluff piece. Turns out I write fluff about as well as I write present tense (which is to say, not at all) so I wrote this little drabble instead. Which is... wait for it... kinda angsty. I think it's time I accept I have a box lol**

**Just a short little Gail/Nick scene that takes place after 3x03.**

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"Should I go get some Tequila?"

Gail didn't take her gaze off the city beyond the window, though she did raise an eyebrow he couldn't see. "Looking to get me drunk so you can have your way with me, Collins? _Classy_…"

In all honesty Nick would settle for her just _talking_ to him; those were the first words she'd spoken since getting to his place, and when he'd invited her to join him on the couch she'd developed a sudden fascination with the view… Careful to keep his tone light he suggested, "I think you should be flattered I'm making an effort _at all_, considering…"

Disguising it as a joke didn't disguise the fact that he kinda meant it… "I think you overestimate the extent of your appeal, _considering_…" She hadn't asked him to chase her or make a general nuisance of himself, and if anyone had anything to 'consider' it was _her_.

"Come on, Gail…" he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sank deeper into the cushions. "You have to admit you haven't exactly been all warm and fuzzy this go-round…" It used to be so easy – them together – and now it was like so much work.

Gail didn't _have_ to admit anything, much less how much he'd hurt her the _last_ go-round. "You want warm and fuzzy?" Sparing him a backward glance she wryly advised, "_Get a dog…_"

A crude retort immediately jumped to mind but Nick resisted, knowing she probably wouldn't appreciate his creativity. "Does that mean you won't be greeting me at the door with my slippers any time soon?" Okay, so he wasn't playing it _completely _safe…

"A snifter of cyanide-laced Brandy maybe…" She was immensely relieved that the words had come out more flat than anguished; of all the visuals to evoke he had to go and pick the one of the doting wife…

The comment was totally offhand, not a trace of laughter in her voice, and he suspected she'd taken _his_ comment far more seriously than he'd meant it. Good thing he'd trusted his instincts and not shared his initial thoughts… "I was _kidding_, Gail... What the hell happened to your sense of humor?" She'd never been easily amused but she'd never been quite so impervious, either.

Gail suppressed a bitter scoff. "Casualty of war…" She stopped just short of asking him what _other _deaths he was responsible for (she was trying to figure out her own shit, not throw his in his face) and deadpanned, "It was that or my forgiving nature; I couldn't keep both…"

If her intention had been to show she still had a sense of humor – albeit a much darker and dryer one – she'd succeeded; what Nick knew she probably _hadn't _intended was how much she'd revealed with that one little quip… Going to stand behind her he gently urged, "Gail, we need to talk about this…" Every time he brought it up she just waved it away like it _wasn't_ causing this huge disconnect between them, but it was becoming increasingly clear their issues weren't going to just magically resolve themselves.

"There's nothing to talk about," she denied for the umpteenth time, moving forward to lean against the window frame.

It didn't take a genius to figure out her change in position had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with his proximity (or that any discomfort was caused _by_ his proximity) and Nick was as frustrated as he was hurt. "Do you even want to be here?" He refrained from reminding her that she'd ordered him off the street and _brought_ them there…

What Gail _wanted_ was to be twenty-two again, before the full weight of the Peck legacy had fallen on her shoulders and she hadn't really worried about it anyway because she'd had him and nothing else had seemed to matter; before he'd left her to deal with it on her own and she'd ever had to _consider_ facing it without him. But she _wasn't_ twenty-two anymore. He _had _left, and as much as she wished she could (if only because she hated being so _affected_) it was impossible for her to just forget the last five years had happened. _Worse_, as much as she wished he _wasn't_ he was still in her blood and under her skin and damned if he didn't still have the biggest part of her heart she'd ever dared give up. Damned if she wasn't _terrified _he'd just up and take off with it again… Without taking her gaze off the city beyond the window she quietly conceded, "You should probably go get some Tequila…"

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**Not one mention of Dov or Chris - aren't you proud of me? :)**


End file.
